


Do No Harm

by Melibe



Series: Bad Medicine [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Alternate Universe - Human, Beelzebub Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Dermatologist Gabriel, Doctor/Patient, Eczema, Extremely Dubious Consent, He/Him Pronouns For Gabriel (Good Omens), Medical Kink, Other, Protective Gabriel, Sexual Roleplay, They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), Touch-Starved, or it could be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:26:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26508190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melibe/pseuds/Melibe
Summary: Dr. Gabriel Ark is always scrupulously careful not to touch his patients any more than necessary. He wouldn’t want to send the wrong message or make anyone uncomfortable. But when a patient walks into his office with the worst eczema he’s ever seen and a history of non-compliance, what’s a responsible physician to do? It's an exceptional case, and the tenets of personalized medicine call for a hands-on approach to treatment.
Relationships: Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Series: Bad Medicine [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1927267
Comments: 24
Kudos: 64





	Do No Harm

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyyyy I'm back with more incredibly questionable content!
> 
> This fic in no way constitutes sound medical advice or practice. Also, Beelzebub has eczema all over their body. All over. It's not fetishized or anything but it is mentioned throughout.
> 
> As with part one, the whole thing could be read as roleplay by two supernatural entities, or a human AU.
> 
> With amazing beta by seekwill, who has the best ideas.

Dr. Gabriel Ark drank a cup of cold water. He washed his hands, scrubbing under his nails with the brush that he kept by the sink. He took three deep breaths, counting to twenty for each inhale and exhale. 

It was the same cleansing routine he always followed between appointments, but he had a feeling that this time he’d need the preparation more than usual. He took another three deep breaths, squared his shoulders, and picked up the chart for his next patient. As he walked down the hall, his eidetic memory brought back every word of Michael’s email.

_I’m sending you a real nightmare. It’s not their skin condition—although that is appalling—it’s their attitude. This is the least compliant patient I’ve ever had. They tell blatant lies, refuse to fill their prescriptions, then yell at me as if it’s my fault they look like that._

_I would apologize for referring them to you, but they’re no more than you deserve. Just remember: they don’t want your help, they want to give you hell._

Gabriel sighed. He and Michael had been close in med school, but she’d never forgiven him for pursuing dermatology instead of general practice. “If you want to get rich injecting botox, that’s your business,” she’d fumed. “But _I_ became a doctor to help people.”

Michael’s scorn didn’t bother him. Gabriel knew he was helping people too, and if he was also making excellent money and keeping easy hours, so much the better. Dermatology wasn’t all vein reductions and chemical peels. He treated acne, identified allergies, excised melanomas. He’d made a minor name for himself diagnosing tricky rashes, and had published in _JAMA_ and _The Lancet_.

But even Gabriel was taken aback when he stepped into the exam room. Beelzebub Lord had the worst case of eczema he’d ever seen.

They sat on the edge of the table with their arms folded across their chest, kicking their legs like a sullen child. The “one-size-fits-all” paper gown did _not_ fit them, and Gabriel had to smile at the way it stuck out past their shoulders, bunched at the waist, then fell over their knees. They wore a sloppy ponytail that half their dark hair had already slipped out of. Stormy blue eyes glared at him.

“Well?” they growled, before he could speak. “I bet you want to write me up as a case study.”

The thought had crossed his mind. Rashes marred most of their face, raised and reddened skin covering their forehead, nose, and cheeks. Their neck was just as splotchy, their arms a checkerboard of thick white crusts and dark bumps. Gabriel’s gaze flicked down to their scarred calves and their bare, rough, terribly cute feet.

Then he met their eyes and smiled. Their aggressive demeanor was all the more reason for him to offer genuine warmth. “I’m Dr. Ark,” he said. “I’m glad you came to see me today. Do you go by Beelzebub?”

“Only to people who also go by their first name,” they snapped through cracked lips.

“You can call me Gabriel, if you like,” he answered. He’d found that most of his patients preferred to call him Doctor, craving the assurance of authority. But he already knew they wouldn’t be like most of his patients. “What have you come to see me about, Beelzebub?”

“Isn’t it fucking obvious?” They threw their arms wide, inviting him to take in the rashes, the scales, the weeping blisters.

“Why don’t you tell me?” Gabriel asked gently.

“Fine, if you’re going to be thick about it,” they spat. “I’ve got atopic dermatitis, seborrheic eczema and dyshidrotic eczema. I’ve seen enough doctors to pave the road to Hell. None of them can do a damn thing, and Michael’s the worst yet. She thinks I _want_ to look like this.”

“She referred you to me,” Gabriel pointed out. Michael’s disgust with her patient was obviously mutual. And yet Beelzebub had taken the referral, made the appointment, showed up.

“Yeah, that’s right. Gabriel Ark. Best dermatologist in the city. The online reviews call you a miracle-worker.” They made it sound like an insult. “You’re not going to work any miracles on me.”

“Maybe you can give me a chance. Be a little patient.” He laughed at his joke. They didn’t. “Let’s start with the basics. Do you have any allergies?”

“Sure. I’m allergic to condescending pricks who ask questions they already know the answers to.” Beelzebub gestured at the chart in his hands.

Gabriel sighed. Yes, he knew that Beelzebub was allergic to dust, mold, grass, and pollen. But usually patients liked to share their history with him. They often added details along the way that he could use to inform his treatment. This time, apparently, he wouldn’t be so fortunate. “Have you been able to modify your environment to avoid allergens?”

“No, but I’m looking into a move to outer space.” They snorted. “Even if I could keep my home supernaturally dust-free, my workplace is full of mold.”

Gabriel frowned and made a note to look into that. “Do you have a stressful job?”

“Stressful as fuck. I manage a load of morons. I could put up a sign saying _don’t lick the wall_ and a hot minute later they’d all have their tongues stuck to the paint.”

He nodded sympathetically. Some of his staff weren’t the sharpest scalpels in the drawer, either. “Practice any stress-mitigating techniques?”

“I set an employee on fire every other Thursday. Very relaxing.”

Gabriel was starting to understand Michael’s perspective. He resisted the urge to massage his temples. “Okay. What’s your diet like?”

“Don’t even fucking go there.” They rolled their eyes. “I’ve tried it all. Gluten-free, dairy-free, sugar-free. I’ve cut out all fats and eaten nothing but fats. None of it makes any difference. Now I just eat whatever the hell I feel like.”

He tried a soothing tone of voice. “And what kind of things do you usually feel like?”

“Oh, you know. Frog tongues, snake livers, pigeon dicks. Healthy shit.”

Gabriel sighed, set the chart on the counter, and pulled on a pair of gloves. After a moment’s thought, he picked up an alcohol wipe. He didn’t like to jump into surgical procedures, no matter how minimally invasive, but in this case it might show Beelzebub that he was serious about helping them. “I’d like to take a small skin sample. Have you had a biopsy before?”

“Of fucking course I have. Do you really think you’re going to find something a dozen other idiots in lab coats have missed?” 

They sneered at him as he disinfected a patch of skin on their arm. Shit. He was already failing. Why? How? What did they want from him?

Gabriel had always been careful to touch patients as little as necessary. He would never want to risk making anyone uncomfortable. But now in frustration he tightened his grip on Beelzebub’s forearm, and he noticed a subtle hitch in their breathing, a slight shift of their body towards him.

He didn’t believe what Michael had said, that Beelzebub just wanted to make trouble. A person wouldn’t keep going to doctors, one after another, unless they were looking for something. Hoping for something. Even if Beelzebub didn’t know what it was.

“Actually, let’s forget the biopsy for now,” said Gabriel slowly. He released their arm and hooked a wheeled stool with his foot, pulling it over so he could sit in front of Beelzebub. It brought his head a few inches lower than theirs, which he hoped would put them more at ease.

He asked, “Why don’t you tell me how it feels?”

“How what feels?”

“I can see how the rash looks, but I can’t see how it feels,” explained Gabriel patiently. “Is it hot or itchy? How much does it hurt?”

Their eyes narrowed in suspicion, but they answered. “Not hot. Itchy, sometimes, some places more than others. Doesn’t hurt much, unless I knock into something. Or some shithead bumps into me.”

That was interesting. “Can you tolerate intentional touch from others?”

“No one touches me on purpose.”

“No one?”

For a moment Beelzebub looked stricken, as though the simple question had been a physical blow. Before Gabriel could find words to soften it, their expression transformed into rage. They snatched at their gown, yanking open the ties, pulling so sharply it ripped from the neck. The torn paper caught and tangled their legs as they tried to push it all the way off.

Gabriel had once seen a cicada fighting out of its old skin. He’d longed to lend a hand, to ease the insect from its molt, but he’d resisted the urge and simply watched until it wriggled free. He didn’t think Beelzebub would appreciate his help any more than the cicada would have.

Finally they kicked the paper to the floor, snarling, “Look at me, dickface! Would _you_ want to touch me?”

Gabriel made no move to betray his surprise. He just looked, as they had asked him to.

Beelzebub was stark naked, hadn’t even kept their underwear on like patients usually did under a medical gown. Scabs and scars encompassed their whole body, but Gabriel only noticed them as an afterthought. His attention was taken up with the artful formation of their limbs, the curves and hollows of their torso.

He reached one gloved hand toward their shoulder, steady and slow. “May I?”

“What?” Their wide eyes darted between his fingers and his face.

“May I touch you?”

“Don’t know why the hell you’d want to, but sure.”

Gabriel set two fingers against their skin and stroked down their arm. Even through the latex he could feel the change in texture as he moved between patches of eczema and clear skin. He kept his eyes on Beelzebub’s face, though their eyes were glued to his hand. He watched their forehead furrow and their lips fall slightly open. He listened to their sharp inhale as he reversed direction at their wrist, running his fingertips back up to their shoulder.

When he took his hand away, he knew that touching them had been an indulgence for himself. But it had also been necessary to test the theory he was forming about Beelzebub. You couldn’t treat patients solely by following protocols like an automaton, wasn’t that what everyone said these days? You had to consider each patient as an individual. Personalized medicine, they were calling it.

“How did that feel?” he asked.

“Felt weird,” Beelzebub answered bluntly. “You’re wearing gloves.”

Gabriel considered. He wore them mostly for his patients’ peace of mind. He scrubbed assiduously before each appointment, anyway. “Do you want me to take them off?”

Beelebub turned away, scowling at the wall. “You’re the doctor.”

“And you’re the patient.” He reached out and slid his finger along their jaw, drawing their face back to look at him. “Do you want me to take the gloves off?”

They looked so fierce that for a moment he thought they might bite. Then they gave a jerky nod. So he dropped his hand, rolled back on the stool, and peeled off his gloves.

When he stood up and walked to the counter, he didn’t miss the disappointment that flashed across Beelzebub’s face. They’d been expecting Gabriel to touch them right away with his bare hands. They’d been wanting it.

Personalized medicine, that’s what he would give them. It was nothing he’d ever done before, nothing he’d even considered, but this patient had come to him in need and he would rise to the occasion. It would be cruel to pretend ignorance of what Beelzebub was looking for, crueler still to deny them.

He and his colleagues had sworn to do no harm. And yet harm had been done, in abundance, by Michael and all the others who had treated Beelzebub before. Gabriel could undo that harm now.

He hummed to himself, satisfied with his logic, and rummaged in a drawer. “What do you moisturize with?”

“The blood of the damned.”

Gabriel chuckled. Now that he knew how to treat Beelzebub, he found their belligerence more endearing than annoying. He pulled out a sample tube and showed it to them. “Have you ever tried the Heavenly creams?”

“No. That looks really fucking expensive, unless you’re a doctor who gets it for free.”

“Let’s see if you like it, then worry about that.” He returned to the stool in front of Beelzebub. It was an ideal position from which to appreciate their body, which was so much more interesting, so much more appealing than the hairless, flawless models venerated by mainstream culture.

Beelzebub reached for the cream, but Gabriel shook his head and squeezed some onto his own fingers. Without preamble, he spread it over the patch of raw skin on Beelzebub’s arm where he had used the alcohol wipe earlier. Beelzebub looked startled.

He gave them a reassuring smile. “How does it feel?”

They shrugged.

“Does it sting? Is it soothing?”

“Doesn’t hurt. It’s fine.”

“Good.” Gabriel withdrew his touch, noting how hungrily their eyes followed his fingers. He held up the tube of cream. “Now. I have reason to believe that if I send you home with this, you won’t use it.”

Beelzebub opened their mouth and Gabriel raised his hand to cut them off. “Don’t argue. I don’t have any patience for that. What I do have patience for, is taking care of you. Give me your other arm.”

To his surprise, they offered it right away. He circled their wrist with his left hand, holding it steady as he used his right to spread cream up to their elbow. He applied the cream with the pads of his fingers only, although he couldn’t help thinking of how it would feel to press his whole hand against their body, to encompass each shoulder, to wrap around their neck. Gently, of course. He would do it so gently. 

But for now, best to limit the area of contact. Beelzebub was already close to overwhelmed with even these simple touches. Their eyes fluttered between open and half-shut as he rubbed cream into the palm of their hand, pushing his thick fingers between their slender ones to treat the interdigital folds. When he finished with their arm and moved to their neck, they bit their lip so hard it almost bled.

“Does this hurt?” Gabriel was attending to the blisters beneath one corner of their jaw and keeping his eyes on their pulse as it raced under their skin.

“N-nah.” They took a breath and seemed to gather their wits. “Big fancy doctor like you, I’d have thought you’d make a nurse do this.”

Gabriel raised one eyebrow. “I don’t have a nurse that you wouldn’t eat alive.”

Beelzebub laughed and snapped their teeth together, nearly nipping his thumb as he used it to smooth cream over their cheeks. He worked carefully up to their hairline and down to their chin, marveling at the expressiveness of their face, how the lift of their brow and the twist of their mouth could convey trepidation, relief, and yearning all at once.

One of the reasons Gabriel liked the Heavenly brand was that the company had managed to formulate a truly all-purpose salve. He didn’t need a different balm to treat Beelzebub’s raw lips. Applying a small bead to the pad of his thumb, he touched it to the center of their lower lip.

As he stroked back and forth, he glanced up to meet Beelzebub’s eyes. The blue looked nearly gray from close up, their pupils wide with something like disbelief. Their tongue flicked out and brushed the tip of his thumb, which they didn’t seem to realize until Gabriel smiled a little. Then their cheeks flushed and they started to turn away.

“Easy, easy, it’s okay.” Gabriel held their chin still with his other hand as he moved his thumb to rub cream across the white and red cracks on their upper lip. Again their tongue darted out, this time tracing along their bottom lip.

Beelzebub obviously wanted to be kissed, whether or not they were fully conscious of the fact. And since they were so far gone, Gabriel had to be the responsible one, to remember that this was a medical appointment and his only task was to see to his patient’s needs.

“Keep telling me how it feels,” he urged Beelzebub, fingertips trailing down their neck and along their collarbone.

“It—it tickles,” they said, with an expression that he was sure they wouldn’t want him to call a pout. “When you touch like that. It’s too light.”

Gabriel nodded and pressed harder as he moved to their chest. Under the rough scales of the rash he felt the soft flesh of their breasts, and heard the paper crinkle as they shifted. Glancing up, he saw Beelzebub biting their lip again.

“I don’t know if you don’t tell me,” he reminded them. “We can take a break if it’s too much.”

“It’s not—too much.” A red flush quite different from the rash had risen to their throat and face. Their hands clenched and released the edge of the table.

The skin of their left breast, including the nipple, was dry and cracked. Gabriel squeezed a generous dollop of cream over his fingers and massaged it in. Remembering what they’d said about light touches, he rubbed firmly around their nipple. They made a quiet, desperate sound.

“Tell me,” he murmured.

“Uh. What.”

He thumbed the nipple again, to make sure it was fully coated in cream. “Tell me how it feels.”

Their voice had gone breathy, lost. “I—I don’t know—”

“Okay. That’s okay.” Gabriel lifted his hands away. “I’ll stop.”

“Don’t! Don’t. It feels—good.”

“Yes? Good?” He was fascinated by Beelzebub’s transformation. Twenty minutes ago they’d faced him as an adversary, defiant and fractious, and now they were wholly engrossed in their treatment, eyes falling shut and chest lifting in quick shallow breaths.

Gabriel had emptied the first tube of cream, so he rolled his stool over to the counter for a second one. As he fished it out of the drawer, he noticed that his slacks had become uncomfortable. He adjusted them discreetly, then rolled back to Beelzebub.

Turning his focus to their legs, he lifted one foot on his lap to massage cream into the crusted arch. He let his hand cover more of their skin now, sliding his palm up their calf to the back of their knee. Beelzebub made another quiet sound—was it a moan? Gabriel thought that it was. 

For the first time, he directed his gaze between their thighs, reasoning that he needed a holistic view of the patient’s response to his treatment. He could see swollen labia peeking through a tangle of dark hair as their hips rocked back and forth, and a damp spot was growing on the paper beneath them.

Yes, this was clearly why Beelzebub had come to him, even if they hadn’t known how to ask for it. What a blessing that he’d been skilled enough to identify it. Now he just needed to keep them involved, to make sure they knew this wasn’t something Gabriel was doing _to_ them, but doing _with_ them. It was important for patients to experience agency, especially during an unconventional treatment that might look questionable to an outside observer.

“Keep talking to me,” he urged, switching to Beelzebub’s other foot. He stroked his thumb over the inside of their ankle.

Their knuckles whitened on the edge of the table. “It’s—shit, I don’t know—it feels warm. Your hands are warm.”

“Good. I’m glad.” Gabriel’s voice rumbled with satisfaction. This was one of his greatest medical triumphs. It was almost a shame he couldn’t share it with any of his colleagues, or write it up for a medical journal. But the important thing, of course, was that he was helping his patient.

As he worked up Beelzebub’s thighs, he could smell the musk of their arousal, and he noticed more wetness seeping onto the paper. Well, if they were as starved for touch as he suspected, it wasn’t a surprise that this purely therapeutic physical contact could overload their senses and stimulate them sexually. And it was just as reasonable that his own body would respond in kind. He shifted on the stool, trying to ease the discomfort of his now-undeniable erection. 

These reactions were normal. They wouldn’t interfere with his job. He could acknowledge that he found this patient extremely attractive, and set that fact aside to be examined later, in privacy. He could imagine, later, what every inch of Beelzebub’s rough skin would feel like, pressed between his body and a mattress. He could imagine, later, what would happen to those short breathy moans as he fucked into them. Right now, he would focus on the task at hand.

“When eczema affects the genitals it’s a particular challenge,” he commented. “You don’t wear tight clothing, do you? Synthetic underwear?”

“I don’t. Wear underwear.” Their tone was dismissive, but their legs were spread for him, wide and wanton.

Gabriel gathered more cream on his fingers and reached for Beelzebub’s mound without hesitation. “You’ve got a large flare here.”

They pushed into his touch as he worked the cream through their hair down into their blistered skin. He was gratified when their hands lifted from the table to grip his shoulders; it showed that they’d reached the level of patient-physician trust that he strived for.

“How does it feel?” he asked again.

“Uh,” they said. “Um.”

“You have to tell me.” Gabriel’s voice dropped lower. He needed to check in with his patient, of course. His delight in their garbled language, the way they struggled to form sentences, was just a side benefit. “You have to tell me how it feels, if you want me to keep treating you.”

“It’s good,” they managed to choke out. “Feels good and, and, and, fuck. Feels like—I’m going to fall.”

“I’ve got you.” Gabriel slid his other arm around their back as his fingers worked lower. He winced as he saw how little the eczema had spared their vulva. He went back to the tube for more cream, and it mingled with Beelzebub’s own slickness as he stroked their labia.

“Ah, shit!” they exclaimed.

“Tell me,” he said relentlessly. He moved his attentions to their clit, rubbing and circling, letting it slip between his fingers and then catching it again in a gentle pinch.

“Fuck, I don’t, I mean, it feels—fuck!”

He could feel their whole body vibrating. They were so close already. “Does it itch?”

“Itch?” They sounded dazed. “Yes—I mean—sometimes—”

“Don’t scratch,” Gabriel admonished. “I can see where you’ve been scratching. You’ll only hurt yourself. When you need to satisfy an itch, use pressure. Like this.” He dragged his thumb slowly across their clit, once, twice--

Beelzebub’s hips bucked up as their whole body curled forward. They came with a sobbing, drawn-out cry, and kept rubbing on his hand as the tremors faded away, helplessly, as if they hardly realized they were doing it.

Gabriel moved his fingers. They gasped and scrabbled against his shoulders, their hands slipping down his arms. “Still good?” he asked.

“Fuck, it is, yes,” they whimpered.

He stared at their dripping cunt, watching more liquid trickle down to the soaked paper on the table as he kept slowly rolling their clit. Their hips rocked forward in an obvious invitation.

Gabriel could do anything he liked to them now, he was certain. He could stand up and pull out his aching cock, bury it in that wet heat, and they’d thank him for it.

“Yes, fuck, fuck please, yes,” Beelzebub babbled. For a second Gabriel wondered if he had spoken that thought aloud, if they were asking to be fucked. But then he recognized the urgency in their movements, and realized how close they were to a second orgasm. He wanted nothing more than to give it to them at once. He picked up the movement of his fingers as he brought his other hand around from their back to cup one breast and tease the nipple.

“Ah, Doctor!” Beelzebub arched into him, legs shaking as their pleasure crested and broke.

Gabriel forgot his own need in the splendor of watching them come apart. He wanted to draw them into his lap, fold them in his arms, press their head against his shoulder. He wanted to tell them how beautiful they were, all of them, and he wanted to hunt down and destroy whoever had made them feel like they couldn’t be looked at, couldn’t be touched. He wanted to take them home and keep them as his own. No one else deserved them.

But instead Gabriel rolled his stool back and stood up, like the professional that he was. He smiled solicitously at Beelzebub’s ragged breaths and trembling limbs. “It’s a lot to process, if you haven’t been taking care of yourself properly.”

“Been—taking care of myself—just fucking fine,” they muttered.

“I don’t think so,” said Gabriel cheerfully. He went to the sink and washed his hands, then filled a paper cup with water and brought it to Beelzebub. “Hydrate and moisturize. Simple steps to health, but easy to forget.”

They didn’t take the cup. They just leaned forward to take a sip. So Gabriel cradled the back of their head in one hand and tilted the cup until they’d drunk it all. Shit, Beelzebub really needed to be taken care of, didn’t they? The thought made his knees weak.

Gabriel picked up his last sample tube and his prescription pad. “It seems like this cream is a good one for you,” he said, scribbling, _apply Heavenly cream, 2x/day_. “And remember that touch is also important for skin health.”

“Yeah. You should—” Beelzebub licked their lips. “You should write that down too. So I don’t forget.”

“Of course.” Gabriel had no doubt what they were asking for. _Call for help with application_ , he wrote, followed by his personal cell number. Then he tore off the paper and pressed it into Beelzebub’s hand. He let his thumb brush their wrist, and felt a shiver travel through their whole body. “Schedule a follow-up visit anytime.”

Then he left the room. He had a ritual to follow before seeing his next patient, after all. He would wash up, drink water, take deep breaths. Then, if he had a few extra minutes, he’d jerk off to the memory of his hands all over Beelzebub Lord’s beautiful, perfect body.

**Author's Note:**

> want to watch a cicada molting? come on [of course you do](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jpprXshrmXY)
> 
> [tumblr](https://melibemusca.tumblr.com/)


End file.
